Well its beginning to seem a little like Christmas, now....Buying presents, conscientiously, is a real pleasure.
A bitterly cold night—I could not sleep for the cold, nor could I warm myself with more cover—
the Arctic Winter hangs down even this far; —white train smoke against the heavy grey sky, factories crouch under the snow gloom—feathery flakes commence to fall,...
Snowy December Day—Sun has feeling of being far far away; houses crouch + seem squatty (exaggerate this, leaving trees tall with only a few main branches) —of everything being remote + closed up—
My helplessness in the face of war, lasted until the end of the week—A comforting letter from Frank R. helped to clarify my mind, and what my relation to the struggle must be.
WINTER SOLSTICE I can nearly always, if I can get afield, find some Dandelions in December. Once I found them on New Year’s Day. I think of December as a leafless landscape, white sunlight, misty distances, & dandelions hugging the lichen-like turf.
The sullen gloom of night in the east – the dam hardly visible as a pale blueish streak—towards the ominous yellow sky—glow of Buffalo was cut regularly by the silver shaft of a search-light.
I thought of remote woodlands and pastures under a winter moon, and how such things seem so far away, and remote for me, and how I would love to experience again a walk in the country under such a moon—
The sunlight pours up from the south – from time to time a church bell rings – is someone dead? – it has a wild hollow ring –
Still reading in "Random Harvest"—a fine description of autumn in London brings forcibly to the front of my mind, the ache that I am feeling over the complete loss of this past autumn.